


In This Imperfect World, There Was Your Perfection

by 221B_bored



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Growing Up, Growth, Kid John, Kid Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Sad and Sweet, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Teen Mycroft Holmes/Teen Greg Lestrade, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_bored/pseuds/221B_bored
Summary: Growing up hasn’t been the easiest for Sherlock. Making and maintaining friends? Even harder. But, what made him so anti-social? He made him. After, a tragic attempt at making a new friend gone wrong, he ended up scaring poor Victor Trevor. This terrible experience and the fact he was having an annoying baby sister on the way made him completely give up on people. That is until he found the perfect person, John Watson. John helped him see the world in a new light. But, John's world wasn't so bright; he was being abused by his parents. Sherlock catches on and tries his hardest to help. The problem is: he's not good with people. So, he ends up making mistakes. In fear that history would repeat itself, and he would ruin his friendship with John, Sherlock closes himself off. He turned away when John Watson needed him most. How will they help each other get over their fears of the past? Will they realize that they don't need to hide from the one thing that helps? Only time will tell.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	In This Imperfect World, There Was Your Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I hope you're having a great day/night. I'm new to all this "writing business" and would really like it if you would give a kudos and leave a comment. And please let me know what you think. I strive off of constructive criticism. I would appreciate it if you'd tell me what you like or dislike about my work. Anyway, thank you so much for your time and support. Hope you enjoy the fic and stay awesome. You can find and contact me on Twitter at @hope_into. New chapters will be posted every Friday or Saturday around 8-11 p.m. Stay tuned~
> 
> This is my first one, so I hope it's good...

It begins with a young boy with curled dark ink-black hair, paled inexpressive face, with kaleidoscope eyes that pierced out at the dirtied, dark window of his study. He stared at the botanical gardens that surrounded Holme's, Musgrave Hall. His eyes endlessly followed the curves and circles of the rose bushes in the land beyond. He looked at the hills that faded out into the dark, twilight sky that was fogged over with the crisp blanket of Winchester’s fog. If you focus hard on the hills then you can make out the figure of all the brownstone houses and streets beyond, where London began, far beyond the trees and hills of Winchester’s region.

The area is quite beautiful and captivatingly poetic. Although this young boy was not taking in the beauty, no, he was grasping for freedom beyond the walls of Musgrave Hall. He longed to run freely in the gardens and smell the white, withering roses that surrounded a large hill with an oak tree on top, that overlooked the roses below. Yet, he was not able to go beyond the window. He started at the place he wanted to be; eyes fixed on the roses and the great oak.

“Were you even listening to me? You know it’s terrible having to repeat oneself due to the lack of focus you seem to now always have.”

The boy looked from the window dragging his pale blue eyes slowly to meet that of his older brother’s. His brother was looking stern and agitated. He had every right to be, due to their current situation and the heavy toll they will soon have to deal with.

“Yes, I’ve heard everything you’ve said. That we are expected to pack and to move to London to visit our Grandma for a while since the baby’s coming and we need to be closer to the hospital in case Mum has early labor…hm... I don’t think that moving to the city’s hospital is necessary. It won’t make much difference since the Winchester hospital is filled with the same idiotic doctors who have no experience. London’s hospital is bigger but, that’s because it needs to be filled with more morons who call themselves ‘medical practitioners,’” the black-haired boy said with little to no emotion present in his voice. 

“Well, of course, there’s no difference to you, You’re not the one getting operated on so, you needn’t worry about the health and experience of London’s hospital compared to Winchester’s. Those precautions don’t apply to you,” the elder brother smirked sharply at the boy near the window. 

“You’re not the one getting operated on either, mum is. Besides, that’s not my point, it's the fact that we have to move in with our grandma for what could be months,” the boy said just as sharply with a hint of annoyance. 

The elder was visibly hurt with the sharpness of the remark. The elder scoffed and pulled down on his red velvet waistcoat with forced dignity. His dignity was so forced that when he pulled his waistcoat down one of the buttons gave way and threw itself onto the floor. The younger snickered as the shiny black button fell to the wooden, waxed floor. It was obvious that the waistcoat was much too tight. 

This made the elder visibly blush and ignite into a fury. 

“Well, I’ll have you know, brother mine, that you deserve all the sickling affection she’s going to give you because I’m not going to be at Grandma’s house. I’m going to stay here to oversee the property and maids. That is until the baby’s arrival, of course. Enjoy all the free time with Grandma, mum, and dad for me, Sherlock.” Then he stormed off out the room, now holding his head high. The brother was pleased with his comeback and delivery of his news. 

The younger now looked infuriated. He had the next few months with his annoying Grandma who had 4 gingered cats and always smelled of cheap drugstore tobacco. She with her yellow cashmere cardigans and heavy gold earrings. He despised the warm smiles and the kisses that she gave him every time she’d see him. He didn’t like how happy she always seemed to be no matter what happened. Her warm, old smile curled up and wrinkled the sides of her face. That disgustingly sweet smile never left her face. It annoyed him to his core seeing her pitiful smiles every time something terrible occurred. Why couldn’t she just frown, at least once?

He got up, went to his room. He had a very interesting room. In it, he had a large deep brown oak bed in the far corner. The bed sat next to a large arched window that let the pale blue light seep out of the yellowing glass in the window’s frame. There was a thick, posh rug in the center. It was a deep purple rug with gold trimming. He also had a deep oak dresser and desk to match the bed. But, besides all the main furniture in the room. The bedroom was covered in beckers and experiments. He had the weirdest hobby of exploring the unknown. It gave him excitement to fill logs and write essays on the things that made the gears in his great mind turn. He just had to do it. His brother would say it was an obsession, for how much his little brother cared about his work. 

Although, some of the many experiments are still in progress. And most of the contents of the beakers stained the oak desk and the cream-colored walls. There was also a considerable amount of papers and books all around the floor. They were mostly in neat stacks next to beakers and other things. Even if it was crowded in this room, it was not messy. Rather all the experiments and papers were all in neat piles. It was almost as if each experiment had its own section on the floor, in neatly organized messes. There was the section next to the corner nearest to the dresser for his frog decaying experiment. It was a silver tray with a frog cut open down the front to reveal all the frog’s organs. Near the frog, the experiment laid an array of papers documenting the time it took for different parts of the frog to decay first. It was a peculiar spreadsheet; it had a column for skin, organs, bones, and the eyes. There also was a polaroid camera next to the pile. On the wall next to the dresser there were about 50 photos of the frog’s decaying. Along with tons of sticky notes. This experiment was the most important one for the youngster. He wanted to see how long the frog took to decay and which parts of the frog would be the first to decompose. 

Near the bed lay tons of beakers filled with many different chemicals and dirt. The row of beakers carried up to the desk as though Sherlock had run out of room on the table and decided to carry the experimentation down onto the floor in front of the bed. Under the bed were extra beakers and utensils that may be needed later or are in storage. In the center of the room lay a dozen glass antique plates each one having a different mushroom type. He was looking into which native species of mushroom near his house were toxic and once he collected the toxin, he planned on testing what the toxin did. It seemed that the only out-of-place thing in the scientific room was a small red pirate’s hat and wooden sword that lay in the furthest corner of his bedroom. 

But, he just walked past all his odd curiosities in the room and found his way to the dresser where he began pulling all his black and navy pantsuits. He pulled them out and put them onto the bed. Then he began to pack for the ride tomorrow. He folded the clothes with utmost care and skill. But, not with good spirits. This was mainly due to moving in with his Grandma part. But not only so, but he also didn’t want a new sibling on the way. 

It was already far too much having to deal with his elder brother, Mycroft. Who always seemed to have some annoying thing to say. Having a new brother or sister would just make them both sourer and distasteful than he and his brother already were. Yes, having another Holme’s child on the way would only make things worse and unimaginably crazy in their household. So, Sherlock secretly wished for a miscarriage. As terrible as it sounded, he knew that the baby making it to age 9 was far worse. Who knows what the baby would become. 

As he packed and folded his clothes into the two small black, leather bags that sat before him he thought, as he usually did since his mind was never at rest, he remembered something from last summer. Or rather someone. This very intriguing boy he had met. 

Last Summer’s June. Sherlock was near the pond in the woods. The pond was about a two-mile walk from the oak tree and the rose garden. It was in a hidden spot in the woods, Sherlock would come to when he was thinking of great experiments or world problems that needed to be solved. The pond was dark murky brown and was home to some frogs. Around the pond was a circle of trees that blended in with the woods behind this small reserved place full of muddy water. The thin trees were mossy and covered in mushrooms. The same mushrooms that now a while later were on his mom’s favorite antique plates, back in his room. 

This pond was very small and always smelled of musk. It was an interesting smell that fascinated the young curious boy. It was indeed a foul smell but that did not change the fact of how fond he was of this place. It was the only place he could go to explore and fantasize about the scientific world. But most importantly it was a place Mycroft didn’t know about. Making it the perfect place to sulk and dwell alone. 

He had brought a jar to catch frogs in. The frog was for his decaying experiment. He had invited his brother, in case Mycroft too wanted to see how frogs decayed. Even if Mycroft didn’t know about this place. Sherlock decided that it was worth telling his brother about. For if he could show his brother all the intriguing things beyond books and photographs. And if his brother got out to see the dirty, muddy world for what it could be and catch frogs with him, it was worth losing the secret privacy of this place. But, Mycroft only laughed at the thought of catching frogs with his younger brother. So, he dismissed Sherlock and went back to studying Latin and Greek political history. 

Little to Mycroft’s knowledge, he deeply hurt his younger ten-year-old brother’s feelings. If he had known how much his younger brother wanted to spend time with him catching frogs he might’ve broken a little and offered to help him collect the database once the frog was collected. This outcome would’ve made Sherlock the happiest kid alive to have known that his brother was going to help.

Because, to be honest, Sherlock only wanted to do his experiment because he thought that Mycroft would want to help him. They both shared a love of science and the frog experiment was the perfect opportunity. That was the only reason Sherlock wanted to experiment in the first place, to bond with Mycroft. Although, Mycroft was interested in seeing the frog decay, just not the legwork part. The data collecting portion would’ve been something Mycroft would’ve wanted to help with. Mycroft just didn’t want to catch frogs, that’s all. Therefore, Mycroft didn’t help his younger brother. 

Ah, well you can’t always have things go your way….

Sherlock was planning on finding a large male frog so that it was easier to cut him open rather than a small little frog. He was also planning on getting as dirty and messy as possible so his brother, who had hurt him earlier today, would have to get all angry at the muddy floor. This was Sherlock’s small way of revenge. 

He also had a net and a couple of bugs in another container to give to the frog before Sherlock had to, well, had to kill the frog. This part was the hard part he wasn’t looking forward to but, he thought that if he would keep the frog as a pet then, let the frog be without food for a little while so that the frog could die of natural causes. That technically wouldn’t be murder then. So, it was settled. And if he ever felt the need he could let the frog go back to the pond. His experiment wasn’t that necessary. The frog could always go back home. But, he didn’t have to worry about that yet. No, he had more pressing things to think about. Like, the weird movement near the edge of the pond. 

There was a short stump by the edge of the pond it barely moved but it was swaying. It was hard to make out what it was in the fog. Sherlock couldn’t tell what it was. It could be a dog but, what would a dog be doing here? Not knowing what it was frightening to Sherlock. His body tensed and he lightly crept towards it. Making certain to remain mostly hidden behind a tree. It could be dangerous or worse friendly. Sherlock didn’t know what to do if he came across a friendly dog or whatever it was. Then as he got closer, when the fog was lighter, he let his pale blue eyes fix on it. It was a petite chubby figure but not dog-like. Sherlock approached the thing with caution. 

As he got even closer he saw that it was a young boy kneeling over the pond looking down at the tadpoles in the water. Sherlock froze. It was an unexpected boy. This boy had a wide smile on his face and very rugged tan pants with a light cream blouse. Then he looked up directly at Sherlock, with his chocolate brown eyes. This simple glace up with his eyes made Sherlock’s blood stop. The boy had a very wide smile indeed and around his lips, he had a redlining of candy sugar from a lolly. He also had a very distinct shade of strawberry blonde hair, his hair was barely visible since it was hiding behind a red pirate’s hat. 

Without thinking, Sherlock said, “What are you doing here this is my secret pond!” It seems the anger with his brother from this morning, had seeped from his mouth and lashed out onto this unknown pirate boy. 

“Aye, hello matey! I think you are mistaken for this is my secret pond for I’ve marked it with that red flag over there. And if you want to take over my pond then you have to fight me and put up your flag.”

“What?” 

“Yes, this is claimed land you’ve stumbled upon. Now fight me for it or leave in cowardly shame!” 

Although this strawberry boy was shouting for a fight he had the biggest, brightest smile Sherlock has ever seen. And he had this bright personality that just glowed from him. Usually, Sherlock would be annoyed by such brightness but, after just being turned down by his brother. He wanted to play along with this unusually optimistic boy. After all, the frogs can wait for a game of pirate play pretend. 

“Then, yo! I’ve traveled from the great lands of my people in search of this resort of peace. I’ve known this land for many a time. I’ve gotten to know this beauty as though it was my homeland. Therefore let it be known that I am never mistaken for this is my land. And you scurvy dog, ha, had no good intentions nor intellect to have known to have challenged me to combat over the only one true love and peace this place brings me. You have been warned not to get cross with Captain Black-Beard of the Hidden Pond!” 

This is raw. The eccentric unknown nature of Sherlock Holmes bemused the strawberry boy with such delight. The wide smile on the boy grew larger. Much to Sherlock’s astonishment at how that was possible. 

“Then to the death, we fight over the Hidden Pond! I will see that my flag is held high! It shall become and forever remain The Hidden Pond of Red-beard!” The strawberry boy said.  
With that, the strawberry boy flew up to his feet and Sherlock bent to roll up his pants to his knees and picked up a stick for a sword. Their battle had begun. 

They ran through the muddy pond and fought. Lashing their wooden swords at one another. Hopping back and forth as they tried to dodge the other’s weapon. This fight truly was to the death. They chugged through the mud with such passion and enthusiasm that the two glowed. Their smiles were brighter than any star. They played rough but, the fondness of the moment carried them away. They giggled every time the wooden sword clashed at their arm or leg. Their sweat grew more rapid and intense every time they were pushed into the mud. Their hair became filled with dirt and sticks. Their knees scraped the rocks hidden underneath the musky-smelling mud, every time they fell or kneeled. 

Never before had either of them felt so trusting of another person. This was a new experience for both of them. Being able to meet a stranger in the woods and just play. The pounding of their hearts, only showed how much they were enjoying themselves. Every gasp of air-filled their lungs with the pond’s smell made them relish each giggle. And their laughter intensified when they were getting closer to the flagpole. At one point in the battle, the swords were altogether abandoned and they began pushing one another playfully into the mud. This only triggered their laughter into a rampage. 

Sherlock knew that if Mycroft caught him acting so childish, he would be so upset and disappointed. This actually in turn fueled his excitement instead of deflating it. He was proud to not worry what Mycroft or others would think of such a rush of adrenaline and childish actions. Every mud stain on his tailored navy pants and every rip in his pressed white shirt only made him happier. Every giggle or laugh a sign that he was a kid and a very excited one at that. He no longer felt compelled to hide his childish want to play and he felt on top of the world and above his brother’s sharp remarks and studies. He was free and flying. 

He just couldn’t contain himself any longer. The wild delight just broke out from the iron gates and brick walls that made up Sherlock’s enclosed personality. And for once in his life, he didn’t feel compelled to close the gates nor rebuild his walls. He was excited by the chaos that seeped from him with this strawberry boy. He allowed this weird boy to blow up these inner workings of closure with his “Ahoy” and “Scallywags.” He allowed himself to explore and discover what it means to be a kid. A true, wild kid with this strawberry boy. 

He finally felt happy. So why would he ever want to go back to the way he was?

Then the only questions that remain are who was this new, weird strawberry boy and why was he the only person he knew who could make Sherlock jump into the mud without worry? 

Whoever he was and whatever will come to Sherlock after this play, was not at all in his concern. So, he continued to play pretend. He continued to let himself get carried away into the pirate nature and the will of freedom. He reached out to the only goal in his life: the flag pole. His experiments no longer mattered. His addictions to the work, gone. His need to catch the frog was completely forgotten. His eyes only fixed on the wooden stick and red waving flag. His mind was only present in the form of play. He only cared to worry about beating this strawberry boy at the game. 

So, he persisted in playing. Adrenaline rushing through his veins. He ran as fast as he could through the mud towards the flag. But, it stopped when the strawberry boy poked him in the ribs with a wooden sword. He tripped in the mud because of the blow. He fell hard into the mud face down. At first, everything went silent. They both stopped laughing and playing and just stood, stuck where they were. As though they were too cautious to say anything. Then Sherlock burst into laughter at how ridiculous he must’ve looked with mud all on his face and up in his nose. The musky smell of the pond was all he could smell. It came into his lungs in strong wafts and it made him happy. His lungs now felt swept away with the freedom of the pond, along with the rest of Sherlock. The paused tension melted away as the strawberry boy joined in with his sweet giggles.

He looked up to see the strawberry boy smiling down at him. The boy’s laughs filled the air and made the world sound like sugary candy to Sherlock. Strawberry boy had the best, brightest laugh to accompany that wide smile. Then something unexpected happened. The strawberry boy knelt and put his hand out for Sherlock to grab. 

“What? But you have a clear shot to the flag with me in the mud. You could better defend the flag if I was struggling in the mud. Why would you help me?” 

“Really? That’s your question. Ha! Well, you see I may be a pirate but that doesn’t mean I can’t lead you a helping hand,” said the boy with a cheeky smile. 

Sherlock gladly accepted the hand. The hand was warm and wet. Yet, welcoming and friendly. He wiped all the mud off his face as he got up. Sherlock was deeply touched by this random act of kindness. Never before would he imagine anyone wanting to help him, especially if the other person could win the game if Sherlock struggled. But, just as he got to his feet another unexpected thing happened. He felt a hard thump to his left shoulder. It hurt sending a sharp ring of pain down his arm. Red-Beard threw a ball of mud at him. 

“Argg, you’re going to pay for that, you dirty pirate!” Sherlock said playfully as he grabbed a handful of mud and aimed at the strawberry boy’s right shoulder. The strawberry boy just laughed it off and started running away. Their game just got another layer of fun added to it. With every added layer of excitement, the more Sherlock forgot about the troubles of the things back at home. 

Sherlock ran after the red-haired boy. Now with the intention of a mud ball fight. This day couldn’t get any better. If Sherlock was being completely honest it must be the best day of his life. He and the boy exchanged handfuls of mud at each other until they were completely out of breath. Exhausted. They just stood there panting and smiling at each other. The friendship between them is growing evermore. Then when Red-Beard got his momentum back he ran towards Black-Beard. 

Then he put out his hands to push Black into the mud. But Black-Beard who was quicker grabbed Red’s shoulders and pushed him back into the mud. Sending them both down. But, when Red fell to the ground he rolled over to the side, letting Black fall chest down into the mud. They laughed. They almost read each other’s minds and countered their attacks. They truly got each other. Now, both in the mud, they knew that getting up meant getting pushed back down into the mud. It was going to be a crawl war to the flag. So they crawled. Black-beard was faster at crawling and Red had to grab at his heels to slow him down.

Black-Beard looked back at the boy crawling in the mud to catch up. His eyes widened with play. He laughed at overcoming this boy and getting closer to the flagpole. Never before had he surpassed someone in a sense like this. He was matched with the perfect playmate. He felt overly childish. He never before felt so much like a seven-year-old boy as he did now. Why hasn’t he let himself play with another ever before? This was fun. And this moment of pure joy would last forever, that is until Sherlock found himself next to the red flag at the other side of the pond. He pulled himself up with all his strength. He almost flew out of the mud with the momentum he had. 

His smile grew every second his hand got closer to the red silk that was waving in the moist air. It was almost like a red flame flying and lashing with the same power and excitement as he did. Black-Beard yanked the red flag off the wooden stick with one fluid graceful movement of his wrist. Then he took off his black blazer jacket and tied it around the flagpole. His heart was nearly jumping out of his chest, in an ache to be free and flowing. His heart wanted to fly out and wave in the air like the black blazer now did, atop the flagpole. He was victorious in the battle over the Hidden Pond. 

Then he turned to face the defeated Red-Beard. Sherlock poised with confidence and a smug smile of contempt and triumph on his face. His smile was soon ripped off when he turned and was faced with a crying strawberry-blonde boy. The chocolate brown eyes were now red with tears. The red eyes were so vibrant that they matched the red pirate’s hat on Red-Beard’s head and the lolly’s sugar line around his red berry lips. What had Sherlock done to make the boy this sad? It almost pained him to see his friend look like this. Suddenly all the excitement drained out of him. His heart once wanting to fly out now laid there empty and hurt. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Be-because I’ve never-ever lost a battle be-before. And I re-really wanted this pond!” The boy said through sobs.

Something in Sherlock lighted and he turned to pick the red silk flag up from the mud and tied it above his black blazer on the flag pole. This was very much to his surprise since normally he would pride himself on winning and making the loser cry. But, not today. Today he saw this “loser” as his equal. He even looked up to this strawberry boy who let his emotions be shown and known. All the while making Sherlock know how to be more expressive. If Sherlock was being honest he was envious of this boy for the boy’s confidence and freedom of will. 

Suddenly the boy stopped crying. 

“What? But I lost.” 

“Yes but, you’ve put up such a great battle that I must admit I am very impressed. Therefore I shall split my pond with you. In your honor,” Sherlock said simply. This was Sherlock’s way of repaying the strawberry boy for leading him a helping hand earlier.

“I think you’ve made a mistake.” The boy said with a small smile.

“What? I never make mistakes!” Sherlock snapped back with a sharp edge. He didn’t understand this foolish boy. He was willing to share the pond and this boy thinks he’s made a mistake. Now, all the light-heartedness disappeared and he was left confused and edged. 

“You are splitting our pond, in my honor,” He said with a cheeky smile. 

This, in turn, melted the stern off Sherlock’s face,  
“My mistake is our pond.”

They went into a fruitful fit of giggles. Soon the giggles died down. They took a moment to breathe in the moist, musky air of the pond and take in all their enthusiasm. They looked at one another with bright glowing eyes. They never broke eye contact as though they were reading each other’s thoughts. Then they looked around them at their new, shared pond. 

It was theirs only, their hidden pond away from the world in their private vacant place. Here they knew they would be safe from the things that frightened them the most. It was blissful and extraordinary to have a place you can call your own with a stranger. Suddenly, this strawberry boy didn’t feel like a stranger. It felt as though he were merely an old friend. Someone Sherlock had dreamed about. Someone he wrote to in his private thoughts. It felt as though he could finally put a face to the person who would call him and tell him about all the wonders of the world. A face now added to the fleeting caprice joy of rebelling in your hidden want. 

That is what this pond was; their want. Their complete blissful peace and their wild nature of youth. And it was being shared with this exciting strawberry boy. Then, and only then, Sherlock felt a fulfilling warmth in his heart. A warmth never experienced before. The warmth cradled him and made him feel secure. All the while it made him excited and longing to get out and see the world. He wanted to rip the curtains that laid between him and whatever else he hadn’t experienced before. He wanted to lower his walls, well the walls that remained since the strawberry boy broke down most of them. He wanted to expose himself as this wild, free pirate boy who didn’t have a care in the world. All his pain over the years of his life gone, leaving him in peace. Sherlock wanted to grab one of his jars and bottle up this warm feeling. Bottle the feeling to keep for whenever he felt cold and alone. 

This was the free life he had longed for. Here this life with the bright, smiling strawberry boy. 

Then the strawberry boy spoke.

“You’d make a bloody good pirate Black-Beard!”

“As would you, Red-beard.”

“My real name is Victor Trevor. And I live past this forest in a small cottage over there,” He said brightly and he pointed off into the distance. “Maybe you can come to visit sometime?”

“Maybe.”

“So what’s your real name?”

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

“That’s a really weird name. If I had the name Sherlock I’d probably change my name.”

“Really…” Sherlock’s voice broke, he was sad that Victor considered his name weird. “Then call me Will. Sherlock’s my middle name, William is my first.”

“Okay, then Will. What do you want to do next?”

“ Ok, then Victor. Want to help me catch frogs? That’s what the nets and jars are for,” he said pointing at the jars. “We still have a couple of hours of sunlight left bef-”  
Before Will could finish his sentence Victor cut him off.

“Oh, no look at your clothes! Your mum will kill you! All of your posh pants are so dirty! We will never be able to wash you up enough in time. We’re so in trouble!” The strawberry boy said with a genuine look of concern on his face. This was puzzling to Will how come this once carefree strawberry boy was now all wrapped upon the state of his clothes. The boy didn’t even care about his own clothes, and they were in a worse state than Will’s.

“But, your clothes are in a worse state than mine. Wouldn’t your mum be infuriated? And about my clothes, it’s all just fabric. I don’t care if they’re muddy. I have more clothes at home,” Will inquired. 

“Yes but, these are my play and work clothes. Mum knows they would be muddy when I come home and she’ll make me wash ‘em. But, it would be worth it because of all the fun we’ve had. You on the other hand are wearing your good clothes. It’s a suit!” Victor said. 

“Oh. Wait, you have to wash your clothes? You don’t have housemaids? Also, I don’t care cause all my clothes look like this so, I will just toss these out and wear one of the other suits I have.” Will said simply. 

“What? You are rich? So, no worries about your clothes then, huh? Did you not know that everyone isn’t fortunate enough to have maids to do everything for them, Oh, but that doesn’t make sense why would you want to hang out with me then? Rich kids don’t want to hang around the poor people because you're 'so much better than us.' So, why are you playing with me, if I’m a poor kid?” The strawberry boy spat out, very annoyed with how his friend was showing off how ‘rich’ he was. 

“Because you are the only one I can hang around. Duh.” 

“So you just played with me because you are alone? That’s it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Will expression-less. It was so obvious. What a stupid question this boy had. If Will had a kinder brother who wanted to play and spend time with him. Then he would just go play with Mycroft instead of a random boy in the woods.

But, what Will said had hurt Victor’s feelings. It made the boy feel dense. The strawberry boy was hurt deeply. How come his new playmate was acting so rude and cold? And why did he assume that he had maids to clean up after him? Black-Beard should know better than to think that the whole world is blanketed and shaped to fit everyone. He just assumed that everyone needs maids. He was perfectly capable of cleaning his clothes himself. 

And to think that their whole fun evening spent together was just because this black-haired boy had no one else to play with. This made the strawberry boy sick to his core. All the fun excitement that filled his heart now felt bitter. The air in his lungs, once warm, went cold in an instant. Victor felt betrayed and used. Did they only play together because William had no one else? So Red-Beard was just a one-time playmate. Was he a quick fix for the rich boy? To think that this other black-haired boy was so spoiled and rotten. 

“So, that’s it then?” the strawberry boy repeated himself, “So you’re going to throw me out like your dirty suit, now?” Victor then got up and was about to turn and leave. 

This startled Will. What is something he said? Then he replayed his words and realized how ignorant and rude it came off as. He wanted to bite his words back. He wanted to kick himself for being so dumb and letting these harsh words roll off his tongue. He didn’t mean it like that. He truly enjoyed their time together and he only was being honest about how they came to play together. For if Mycroft had decided to join Will to catch frogs who knows if they’d played together. Will wanted to go back in time and keep his big mouth shut. But, he couldn’t undo what had been done. How was he going to fix his mistake? Seeing his new friend turn away made his heartache, he had to act fast.... 

...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope I didn't overkill it. What do you think is going to happen next? Pop a guess down below? Please leave a kudos and comment...thank you so much. ☺️


End file.
